Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, Daughter Am I, More Deaths Than One, and A Spark of Heavenly Fire. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”

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Grief’s Milestones

July 14, 2010 — Pat Bertram

The first year of grieving is difficult, not just because the wounds to the heart and mind are so raw and the void where the loved one resided so dark, but because it is a year of firsts. And each of these firsts comes with a renewal of pain.

We — my life mate and I — did not celebrate our birthdays. We merely recognized them as a tally mark for another year gone by. Because of this, I had not expected to feel any deeper sadness today — his birthday — than I felt yesterday or the day before, but grief knows no logic. It doesn’t matter that we never celebrated his birthday — that was his choice. But that he is not here to make that choice does matter, and so I’m dealing with an upsurge of grief. We will no longer be marking his years. He will never grow older. Perhaps next year I will be able to let the day pass without making a big deal of it, but today is a first. One of grief’s milestones. His first birthday after death.

I know these days of refreshed pain are important. Too often I keep myself busy to minimize the pain, and there is no effective way to get around true grieving but to feel the pain and go through it. Or so I’ve been told. Reconnecting with the pain is also a way of reconnecting to him. The faster I go through the grief process, the further I get from him. The farther I get from him.

The earth hurtles around the sun at 67,000 mph. The sun hurtles around the galaxy at 140 miles per second. The entire universe is also moving and expanding, so today we are a very long way from where we were when he died. (Considering only the speed of the earth, he died 165,356,000 miles ago.)

And, considering only the surface distance, I am almost 1000 miles from where we lived. We planted trees and bushes around the house to keep it cool and to give us privacy, and that green world seems a million miles from the desert where I am staying now.

So, today I am celebrating his birthday, if only with my grief, because it helps me bridge the distance.

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9 Responses to “Grief’s Milestones”

Pat, this is a very powerful comment you wrote today. It puts everything in perspective and the analagies are just right. I know you feel far, far away from “normal” but you are enduring, and putting one foot in front of the other — and that is something many cannot say.

The first of any special time after such a loss is difficult… a birthday, Christmas, vacation, or the first day of the school year when a child has died. Occasions are filled with memories of other years that always included the loved one. I don’t know of any way to avoid it so we just plow on through. It’s hard, but at the same time we do have memories. Their poignancy is painful, but I still wouldn’t want to give those treasures up. As we move ahead I’m hopeful the pain will retreat but leave the memories intact.

While I believe that death and physical distances are illusions, I also believe that grief is real, a natural part of our creaturehood. Experiencing it, following it, seeing those firsts you speak of, is what we must do to remain whole–or to become more whole.

You have said that you must write about this to help yourself sort it out; I’m glad you’re sharing your grief, for it helps the rest of us know ourselves and our own pain.

Every time I think I’m being self-indulgent by writing about this terrible experience, you let me know that you appreciate my sharing these feelings. Thank you for your generosity, both with your comments and your support.

I thought of you when I read author Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s post about some of her reactions to a divorce. It’s a different kind of grief–she wonders if it’s a breakdown–she is seeking the quiet of the wilderness to help her get things together.. You might like the post:

Malcolm, I read the post and liked it. Whether a person loses a lifemate to death or divorce, the grief is similar, as is the loss of identity. Grief is very like a breakdown. In fact, people who are grieving often wonder if they’ve gone crazy. I’ve been lucky that I have these outlets — my writing and my walks.

Grief is such a tumultuous time in life. The emotional triggers are usually unexpected and intense. All I can say is roll with it as it comes. At five years out from my husband’s death, I still get hit with a rare unexpected trigger that leaves me shocked and grieving all over again. Someone once told me that the intensity of our grief is a testimony to the love that has been lost. What an amazing love you were blessed to share!

And, yes, I have often wondered if I’ve gone completely insane over the past few years. You know what? I think I did have moments of temporary insanity, but that’s okay. Everyone around me is still alive. Ha.

Books by Pat Bertram

Grief: The Great Yearning is not a how-to but a how-done, a compilation of letters, blog posts, and journal entries Pat Bertram wrote while struggling to survive her first year of grief. This is an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.

When twenty-five-year-old Mary Stuart learns she inherited a farm from her recently murdered grandparents -- grandparents her father claimed had died before she was born -- she becomes obsessed with finding out who they were and why someone wanted them dead.

In quarantined Colorado, where hundreds of thousands of people are dying from an unstoppable, bio-engineered disease, investigative reporter Greg Pullman risks everything to discover the truth: Who unleashed the deadly organism? And why?

Bob Stark returns to Denver after 18 years in SE Asia to discover that the mother he buried before he left is dead again. At her new funeral, he sees . . . himself. Is his other self a hoaxer, or is something more sinister going on?

Thirty-seven years after being abandoned on the doorstep of a remote cabin in Colorado, Becka Johnson returns to try to discover her identity, but she only finds more questions. Who has been looking for her all those years? And why are those same people interested in fellow newcomer Philip Hansen?